Expiration Date
by nordBleu
Summary: "Do you believe people have expiration dates?" - Eames/Arthur - character death/suicide


Expiration Date

by nordBleu

film: Inception (Christopher Nolan, 2010)

pairing/warnings: Eames/Arthur / character death/suicide

word count: 1333

summary: "Do you believe people have expiration dates?"

disclaimer: I do not own Inception, its characters or anything officially affiliated with it.

* * *

Eames is staring intently into his scotch when he hears a soft chuckle besides him.

He looks up to find Arthur relaxed in the stool next to him, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, sweater vest a little rumpled.

"When did you get here?"

"A second ago. Or half an hour ago. I suppose it depends, Eames, on how deep we are and which time line we're following." Arthur lets out another low chuckle, his eyes fluttering close.

"_Why_, then, are you here?"

A grin flickers across Arthur's face, "You tell me, Mr. Eames."

"Stop coming here."

"Oh, _darling_," Arthur mimics Eames' accent, "you talk as if this is _my_ fault."

Eames shuts his eyes, trying to block out Arthur, his voice.

"It _is_ your fault. You and your stubborn, selfish ass."

"Don't insult my ass, Eames. And I was under the impression you were in love with it."

Eames growls. "_Stop it._"

"Again with it being my fault," Arthur rolls his eyes, "Wasn't it you-"

Eames' eyes fly open, "_Shut up_."

Arthur laughs, soft and cruel. "Oh _dear_, we can't have that expression on your face. It doesn't do you much justice."

"Shut up. Go away. You're not real."

"Oh, I'm _real_, Eames," Arthur leans forward, wraps thin arms around Eames' neck, "I'm just not the real _Arthur_. Because, after all," Arthur licks his lips, "the _real_ Arthur is _dead_, isn't he?"

Eames wants to throw Arthur - his _shade_ - onto the ground but the smell of Arthur (paper, dust and something sharp like metal) fills his nose and makes him lightheaded.

"Shut up," he croaks. "Go away."

A pause. Another laugh. "If that's what you want."

The weight on Eames' shoulders disappears but the faint smell of paper and dust stay.

x

Ariadne gasps when she sees Arthur strolling through the museum she constructed for the current job.

Cobb throws an accusing glance at Eames and Eames resists the urge to roll his eyes at him. Cobb wasn't exactly in the position to criticize him after all the trouble his shade of Mal caused. Arthur, after all, seems like a peaceful projection.

His role done and finished, Eames finds himself next to Arthur who was studying a Renoir piece, still wearing a sweater vest.

"Renoir tied his paint brush to his arm when his arthritis kept him from holding his brush." Arthur's voice was hushed, matching the atmosphere of the gallery.

"Either he was a stubborn bastard, then, or he really loved painting."

Arthur turns away from the painting to look up at him, smiling slightly. "Or both."

And Eames chokes on air because this is Arthur's 29th birthday all over again. All he could think of was _"No. Don't. This is a bad idea."_ over and over.

They both turn when Cobb places a hand on Eames' shoulder.

"Ariadne's up."

Eames nods because that's all he's capable of right now, still stuck on "_bad idea, bad idea_."

"Eames…"

But the music starts and they're both pulled into reality.

x

"Do you think this is still good?"

Eames looks up from his notes. "Sorry?"

Ariadne shifts her weight to her other foot and lifts the yogurt in her hand up slightly, "Do you think it's safe to eat this? It says it's 'best by' yesterday but it's not like it's an expiration date or anything..."

Eames starts to feel dizzy, his mouth dry, "I…"

Ariadne placed the yogurt on his desk, "Hey…" She kneels in front of him, "Are you alright?"

Eames tries to clear his throat, "It's…"

_Do you believe…?_

"It's nothing."

Ariadne frowns but doesn't push it.

Eames picks up the yogurt to examine it. It's still cool from the refrigerator Yusuf installed for his compounds a few jobs ago.

"It should be fine." His voice cracks slightly but it goes unmentioned. "It's just milk and bacteria."

Ariadne pulls a face. "Gross."

_Do you believe?_

Eames laughs and hands the yogurt back for Ariadne to contemplate.

_Because I do._

x

It's cold and windy outside the museum.

"Honestly, I don't think I enjoy Renoir all that much."

Arthur chuckles. "Really? Me neither."

Eames laughs. "Then why bother?"

Arthur shrugs, "Because it was free?"

A shiver runs down Arthur's spine.

Eames wraps his scarf around his neck. Arthur looks surprised.

"It looked like you needed it."

"Thanks…" Eames has never seen someone looks so uncertain when thanking a person. "Yeah," Arthur nods, "Thanks."

x

"It wasn't you fault," Cobb insists.

"I know."

But he's lying and they both know that.

x

"I wish it would snow." Arthur nods to himself. "It'd be nice if it snowed."

"What's this, all of a sudden?"

Arthur doesn't answer and buries his nose into Eames' scarf.

It rains instead.

x

"You should take a break."

Eames can't read the expression on Cobb's face.

He starts shaking his head but picks up his coat anyways and opens the door leading out of the warehouse.

It's raining.

Eames closes the door, spins on his heel and heads towards the back room while Cobb watches from a distance.

x

They duck into another museum, this one with an exhibit on Toulouse-Lautrec.

"I didn't think Toulouse was to your taste."

"I like his posters." Arthur points to one before trying to brush the rain off his coat.

A woman in black watches another on stage with an orchestra before them both, the painting all curved lines and solid colors.

"'Le vieux con!' Those were his last words," Arthur breathed. "'The old fool!'" He shrugs off his coat but keeps the scarf.

x

"Dreaming to visit a shade? I would advise against that but then I'd be lonely." Arthur laughs.

They're on a porch swing on a beach and it's drizzling, the sky and ocean a dull gray.

Arthur digs his heels into the sand, pushing them back and forth, back and forth. He's wearing a button up shirt and dark jeans. Eames tries to remember when he saw Arthur in that outfit but it's not important. It wasn't the reason he was here.

"It's my fault."

Arthur stops pushing the swing, letting moment rock them slowly, and lifts his feet up. "Is it?"

x

The sun had set and it was still raining by the time they leave.

They walk in silence, Arthur's hand tightly gripping Eames', his grip relaxes as they reach a corner.

Arthur turns to face Eames. "Do you believe people have expiration dates?"

Eames opens his mouth to answer but Arthur takes a step back into the street, into the path of an oncoming car.

Eames doesn't see Arthur's body flying down the street or it hitting the ground a few feet away nor did he hear the thunk as metal met flesh or the thud as the body landed on wet asphalt.

He doesn't because it's only a flash of his scarf and Arthur whispering "Because I do."

x

They're back on the beach but it's raining heavily and hard this time around. The sky is dark with clouds, the water white from the crashing waves carrying in thick foam.

Arthur lets the wind rock the swing and has his bare feet up on the seat. His die is in his hand, rolling around between his fingers.

"It's not my fault."

Arthur paused, stared at the die before placing it between them. He glances at Eames then but looks away as soon as the die leaves his fingers.

"I know." He hugs his knees to his chest, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I know."

"Then why-"

"Because, sometimes, you have to figure things out yourself."

Arthur smiles but it's sad and lonely and looks a little misplaced. Eames wants to touch him, to hold him to say "Don't worry, love" but it's not really Arthur so he doesn't.

Arthur tilts his head and turns to face him slightly.

"I'll miss you."

Then he's gone with no proper good-bye.

The storm raged on, a black and white backdrop to a dream Eames wasn't certain he wanted to wake up from.

* * *

Wow. One thousand, three hundred thirty-one words. I've never written anything that long before. I've tried before but I've never gone beyond three digits.

This story originally was only the bar scene in the beginning, but as I was editing, I just kept thinking "_There needs to be more_" and the rest almost wrote itself.

I'm a little if-y on the tenses. At one point, the museum trips were in past tense but I kept everything in present because I preferred how all the scenes seem to blend together more.

And I wish I could say there is some symbolism with the artist but I chose Renoir because of a field trip my French class took last year and Toulouse because I had a presentation on him in the same class. The poster mentioned is _Le Divan Japonais_, which was part of my presentation.


End file.
